


Totally Booked And Totally Hooked On You

by byrd_the_amazin



Category: Newsies (1992), Newsies - All Media Types, Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bookshops and Pining: byrd style, First Kiss, M/M, OR IS IT, Unrequited Love, albert is nb because i say they are, and so is jack actually, get it together boys, i don't know what this is, send help, so much pining jfc, spot is trans and so is crutchie, they're all trans
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-06
Updated: 2018-02-06
Packaged: 2019-03-14 13:23:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,160
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13590942
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/byrd_the_amazin/pseuds/byrd_the_amazin
Summary: Spelmer in a bookshop, as per the love of my life Isa's request





	Totally Booked And Totally Hooked On You

**Author's Note:**

  * For [buckydarling](https://archiveofourown.org/users/buckydarling/gifts).



> hoo boy waht the /shit/ is this 
> 
> i just , cranked out 37 pages of a ship i didnt think i shipped 
> 
> shrug 
> 
> oh well 
> 
> here we go
> 
> love u isa
> 
> sorry if this Sucks Ass
> 
> here goes nothing 
> 
> byrd

Spot went to the bookstore with every intention of it being an absolutely miserable experience.

He hadn’t counted on the cute bookstore employee.

Cute Employee was sitting cross-legged on top of the counter and so engrossed in his book that he didn’t notice Spot come in, and as far as Spot could tell, he was the sole other person in the shop.

Spot decided to leave him to his book, and instead began to explore the little shop, peeking around bookshelves and walking down aisles to see if he could figure out if there was an organizational pattern to how the books were shelved.

He was only here for Crutchie, he reminded himself. Crutchie needed some obscure book about plants that could apparently only be found in this tiny little out-of-the-way bookshop, and he’d volunteered Spot to go on a hunt to go find it.

Which was all fine and dandy, except the charming little out-of-the-way bookstore was so damn _out-of-the-way_ that it took Spot two hours to find it and another hour to actually get there. So he wasn’t in the _best_ mood when he entered Totally Booked; really, he just wanted to go in, find the stupid book, and get out.

After five minutes, he deduced that there was precisely _no_ organization of the books _whatsoever,_ and he was about to go back over to the Cute Employee to ask for assistance, a point in the right direction, a map, _anything,_ when he accidentally kicked a crate of books and swore. Loudly.

A voice yelled from the front, “If you’re trying to rob the shop, all we have are books, man!”

“I’m a paying customer, I swear,” Spot called back, shaking out his foot and doing his best not to swear again. “I’m just… looking for a book.”

“Well, I would hope so.”

Spot jumped, because the employee had just _appeared_ from behind a bookshelf. “ _Jesus,_ man.”

“Sorry.” The employee grinned, and something in Spot’s brain short-circuited at the appearance of _dimples in his cheeks._ “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“Bullshit,” Spot accused. “I’m sure you take great pleasure in sneaking up on unsuspecting customers and _scaring the shit_ out of them for fun.”

“I plead the fifth,” Cute Employee said, crossing his arms, but he was still smiling. “What kind of book are you looking for?”

“A… book.” Words. What were words. _Why were words so difficult all of a sudden._ “Shit, right. I’m looking for a book on plants. Do you have a… plant-book section?”

Cute Employee wrinkled his nose. “There’s not really much… organization in this shop.”

“Yeah, I’m starting to gather that,” Spot said, his eyes straying from Cute Employee’s face to the shelf beside him, where a battered old copy of _The Fellowship of the Ring_ was side-by-side with _The Complete Anatomical Encyclopedia._ There was literally no pattern, no rhyme or reason to how the books were shelved. It was a wonder anyone could find anything in here.

“What’s the book look like?” Cute Employee asked.

“I don’t know,” Spot confessed. “Cr- my roommate just told me what it was called. _The Plant Dictionary,_ or something like that.”

“ _The Plant Dictionary,_ ” Cute Employee mused, tapping a finger to his chin. “What edition?”

“What- what _edition?_ ” Spot demanded. “Are you seriously telling me you know what _editions_ you have in here?”

“Are you doubting me?” There was a challenge in Cute Employee’s eyes, and something about the way he cocked an eyebrow made Spot weak in the knees.

“Maybe I am,” he said defiantly. “So tell me, what editions _do_ you have?”

“Third, Fifth, and Sixth,” Cute Employee answered promptly, and _alright,_ that was kind of impressive.

“I don’t suppose you know where any of those editions _are…_ ” Spot trailed off at the look on Cute Employee’s face- determined and sure of himself.

“Follow me,” he said, and vanished between the bookshelves.

There were, just as Cute Employee had said, three separate editions of _The Plant Dictionary,_ and all three of them were fairly large, thick books. None of them were located even _remotely_ close to each other, but Cute Employee found them all with ease.

“There’s the fifth edition,” Cute Employee said, pulling it off the shelf and handing it to Spot. “The third edition’s around this way…” He led Spot through what seemed like a maze of shelves and pointed out the third edition. “And the sixth edition… is up there.”

Spot’s gaze followed Cute Employee’s pointed finger up, up, up to the top of the bookshelf, which neither boy would ever be able to reach.

“Great,” Spot said, trying for a laugh. “And just how do you plan on getting _that_?”

“I have a stepstool somewhere,” Cute Employee said. “But it might not be tall enough. I’m kind of. Short.”

“You’re telling me,” snorted Spot, who was a solid five feet tall and sometimes had to look up to twelve-year-olds. Cute Employee was short, but he was still at least a little bit taller than Spot. “Do you have a ladder or something?”

“No, but I’ve got stackable crates and a healthy disregard for personal safety,” Cute Employee said, and Spot thought he was joking until he vanished around the corner and reappeared, dragging a crate that had probably once held books behind him. He flipped the crate over, then stepped back, as if making a measurement.

“If I put this _here,_ and then put the stepstool on _top…_ ” Cute Employee mused, tapping his chin. “Then I might just be tall enough to reach the book.”

“You have a fucking death wish,” Spot said, a mixture of awe and fear in his voice. “Please don’t kill yourself for my book. I can ask my roommate which edition it is-”

“Nah, I’ll be fine,” said Cute Employee. “I’ve done stupider shit and survived, and this crate…” He shook the crate, and it gave a feeble wobble. “Well, actually, I don’t have a lot of confidence in this crate. But I probably won’t fall.”

“You aren’t instilling a lot of confidence in _me,_ ” Spot said. “Let me climb up there. It’s my damn book.”

“I have a policy against customers risking their lives in the shop. It’s too much paperwork for me if you break your neck,” Cute Employee said cheerfully.

“You’re impossible,” Spot grumbled.

“So I’ve been told.” Cute Employee disappeared and came back with a stepstool in his hand. He was right- the stepstool alone _definitely_ wouldn’t have been tall enough to reach the top shelf.

Spot watched with bated breath as Cute Employee opened the stepstool and set it delicately on top of the overturned crate, then shook it slightly to test its stability. Step by step, Cute Employee climbed up to the top shelf, with Spot standing below, sure that each step would send the precariously balanced stepstool toppling to the ground. He was regretting sending Cute Employee up to what was probably going to end up being either his death or a broken neck, but he wasn’t… _complaining_ about the view from below, because Cute Employee was _built._

“Stop checking me out,” Cute Employee laughed, and Spot jolted and blinked hard, looking around for something – _anything-_ else to look at that wasn’t the employee’s ass. His eyes landed on a stack of books a few feet away, and he hurriedly said, “I _wasn’t._ ”

“Are you sure? Because you sounded _awfully defensive_ just then…”

“Shut up,” snapped Spot, determined not to blush. Then, desperate to change the subject, he said, “So are you going to be able to reach the book, or…?”

“Hang on, I should be able to, if I just- shit.” The stepstool tilted, and Cute Employee let out another, “ _Shit.”_

Spot moved closer to the stepstool, just in case he had to make an emergency rescue. “You good?”

“Fine. Couldn’t find my footing for a second,” Cute Employee said, sounding breathless. “I’m alright.”

At that moment, the front door of the shop flew open and hit the wall with a crash, and someone shouted, “ _Elmer!_ ”

If it scared Spot shitless, that was nothing compared to the effect it had on Cute Employee, who yelped, “ _Fuck!_ ” and lost his footing entirely.

Spot only had time to drop the books he was holding and stretch out his arms in a fruitless attempt and think, _Well, that’s it, I’ve killed the cute employee and now I’m never going to be able to hear his laugh again,_ before Cute Employee landed in his arms and Spot, with a grunt, caught him.

There was a shocked moment of stillness when Spot thought, _Fuck, he’s even cuter up close,_ and _Fuck, are those freckles?_ and a number of other assorted jumbled thoughts all starting with _Fuck_ and pointing out the attractiveness of the Very Cute Person he’d just caught and was now _literally holding in his arms_ , before Cute Employee whispered, “You caught me.”

“I guess so,” Spot managed to say without croaking or squeaking once, which he considered quite the accomplishment.

“I-ah, got your book,” Cute Employee murmured, still not taking his eyes off Spot. “It’s on the floor somewhere.”

“Along with your crate and stepstool,” Spot noted, because it had all come tumbling down when Cute Employee had.

Cute Employee laughed. “Hey, it was a good idea for about… thirty seconds.”

“Mhm.” The cute employee’s laugh had thrown him off-guard, and now Spot needed several seconds to recover. “I mean- _no it wasn’t,_ you _dipshit._ Don’t risk your life for a goddamn _book!_ ”

“Noted,” Cute Employee said, and then there was another long moment of just staring at each other before someone called, “ _Elmer!_ I know you’re in here!”

“Shit,” Cute Employee muttered, and the spell was broken. Spot put Cute Employee down with an awkward, nervous laugh, and Cute Employee patted Spot’s arm in thanks. Then he threw back his head and yelled, “YEAH?”

“What _aisle_ are you in?” the person called back.

“The aisles aren’t _numbered,_ you _dipshit,_ ” Cute Employee laughed. “Just follow the melodious sound of my voice.”

“And, apparently, the sound of things crashing to the ground,” whoever it was said, sounding much closer now. “And the sound of people yelling obscenities. This is a family bookstore, you know.”

“How many children do you see in here?” Cute Employee demanded, but his tone was good-natured and teasing.

Someone popped their head around the shelves and exclaimed, “ _There_ you are! This bookshop is deceptively large.”

“And yet, you seem to have the location of every book in the shop memorized,” Spot muttered, and unless it was his imagination, Cute Employee’s face seemed to redden ever so slightly.

“What can I say?” he answered. “I’ve been working here since I was eleven. Gives a guy plenty of time to memorize the layout of the place.”

“Nerd,” the newcomer said affectionately, approaching them and ruffling Cute Employee’s hair. “Are you going to introduce me to your friend, Elmer?”

“Oh! Um…” Cute Employee, who had just apparently been named as Elmer, looked at Spot in bewilderment. “I never caught your name?”

“Because I never threw it,” Spot replied, and the newcomer rolled their eyes.

“The early 2000s called,” they groaned. “They want their joke back.”

“Shut up,” said Spot. “I’m Spot, by the way.”

“Elmer,” Elmer said, grinning slightly. “Is Spot a nickname?”

Spot nodded, and the newcomer sighed.

“Wonderful,” they said. “More friends with weirdass nicknames.”

“Albie, be nice,” Elmer said gently. Then he turned to Spot. “Sorry. Our friend group tends to have some… creative nicknames.”

“Tell me about it,” said Spot. “My roommate is called _Crutchie._ ”

The newcomer ( _Albie?_ ) snapped their fingers in recognition. “I think I know him. Little guy, forearm crutches, always wearing a denim jacket?”

“Sounds like Crutchie,” Spot agreed. “How do you know him?”

“He’s in my art class,” Albie explained. “Pretty fucking good, too.”

“Oh, yeah.” Dimly, in the back of his mind, Spot could recall Crutchie talking about an art class, but he’d really only signed up for it because of Jack. “Cowboy convinced him to take that class.”

“Cowboy? Damn, your people’s nicknames _are_ weird,” said Albie.

“Albert,” snapped Elmer, and Albert blew him a kiss.

Spot’s stomach dropped, because it was then that he realized… _Albert and Elmer were dating._

 _As if you had a shot with Elmer, anyways,_ he chided himself, putting a neutral expression on his face as he picked up his books off the ground, locating the one _(The Plant Dictionary: Sixth Edition_ ) that Elmer had risked his life to get.

The movement seemed to catch Elmer’s eye, and he exclaimed, “Oh! I’m sorry. We should probably check out.”

Albert observed the tipped over stepladder and crate. “You’re just going to leave this here?”

“ _You’re_ welcome to clean it up,” Elmer pointed out.

“Someone could trip,” Albert said, and then grinned. It was the same grin Spot had seen on that annoying guy in his PoliSci class a million times ago- a _shit-eating_ grin. It was clear, at this point, that Albert was just trying to mess with their boyfriend.

“It’s not exactly the _peak of business hours,_ is it?” Elmer replied.

“Someone could-”

“Shut up, Albie,” Elmer said affectionately, then looked at Spot. “Let’s go to the front counter. Are you going to buy all three books?”

Spot shrugged. “Why not? I can just return whatever he doesn’t want.” _Which gives me an excuse to see you again,_ he thought, but didn’t say out loud for obvious reasons.

“Sounds good!” Elmer said cheerfully, leading him to the front of the shop.

“El, I’m going to stay here and _clean up your mess,_ ” Albert called, and Elmer rolled his eyes, grinning.

And _fuck,_ Spot was so far gone for that smile.

~

“Let me get this straight,” Crutchie said, sitting on the couch beside Spot and resting his crutches against the coffee table.

“Not even close,” Spot muttered into the cushion he currently had his face buried in. He’d gotten home from Totally Booked, dropped the books on the coffee table, and promptly collapsed onto the couch, hiding his face in the cushions.

“Right. Let me _make something clear,_ ” Crutchie amended. “You saw… a cute guy today.”

“He was more than _cute,_ ” Spot said. “I’m pretty sure the heavens above aligned to create a face that attractive, and his _laugh,_ Jesus _Christ…_ ”

“You saw a _really cute guy_ today,” Crutchie said, “and he’s got a boyfriend.”

“Partner,” Spot corrected. “But yeah, he’s taken. By someone in your art class, apparently.” He took his face out of the cushion. “Tall, skinny ginger?”

“Offensively red hair? Were they wearing a snapback?” Crutchie asked. When Spot nodded, he laughed. “That’s Albert. I’m surprised they remembered me, we’ve only had like two conversations.”

“That doesn’t matter,” Spot grumbled. “What _matters_ is that the love of my _life_ is _taken_ by _someone else._ ”

“How much have you had to drink today?” Crutchie asked, and Spot flipped him off.

“Shut up,” he muttered. “Alright, so he’s not _the love of my life._ But he _was_ really fucking attractive, and he had a really nice ass, and when I _caught_ him…”

“Caught him?”

“Yeah,” said Spot waving a hand dismissively, “he fell off a stepladder and I caught him.”

“How?”

“Excuse me?”

Crutchie was grinning ear to ear. “How did you catch him? Was it like, bridal-style, or did you just break his fall?”

“This doesn’t seem relevant,” Spot protested.

“Trust me, it’s very relevant,” said Crutchie.

“I guess it was more like… bridal style,” Spot said reluctantly, and Crutchie laughed.

“So you’re telling me you _caught_ this cute boy _bridal-style,_ with your _big, muscular arms,_ and now you’re _really far gone_ for him.”

“Shut up,” Spot muttered. “But… yes?”

“This is _rich,_ ” Crutchie said, sounding close to tears. “This is like something out of a fucking _movie._ ”

Spot smushed his face back into the couch cushion. “I hate you.”

“No you don’t,” replied Crutchie. “Did you get the book I wanted?”

Spot reemerged from the cushion. “Yeah, except there were _three,_ one of which Elmer _risked his life_ to get, so you’d better appreciate them.”

“Oh, his name’s _Elmer?_ We’re on a _first-name basis_ with the cute bookshop employee?”

Spot just groaned.

“I only needed one edition,” said Crutchie, inspecting the books on the coffee table. “The sixth. Did you at least get the sixth edition?”

“Yeah, that’s the one Elmer almost _broke his fucking neck_ for,” Spot said. “It’s fine, I’ll take the other two back tomorrow.”

“You were _counting_ one me only needing one of these books,” Crutchie accused. “You _want_ to go back.”

“I am not answering that question,” Spot snapped.

“But you’re going back tomorrow.”

Spot picked up a pillow and threw it at him. “ _Yes,_ Crutch. _Jesus._ I’m going back tomorrow to return your books.”

“And stare at the cute employee some more.”

“And stare at the— _no I’m not!_ ” Spot yelped. “He’s _dating_ someone!”

Crutchie just shrugged. “Maybe they’ll break up.”

“You’re a terrible person,” Spot said in awe. “You, Charlie Morris, are a _horrible human being._ ”

“I never claimed any differently,” Crutchie said with another shrug. “Let me know how all that goes. I’ll be eagerly awaiting more news about your love life.” He paused, thought about it. “Or rather, lack of one.”

“Asshole.”

“Love you too. I’m going to Jack’s,” Crutchie said, heaving himself off the couch and reaching for his crutches. “Don’t blow up the place while I’m gone.”

“I hate you,” Spot grumbled, and Crutchie blew him a kiss as he left.

~

Spot wanted to say that he exhibited some self-control and waited a while before going back to Totally Booked.

In reality, he showed up the next day as soon as his second class was over, which, according to his internet search, was an hour and a half after the shop opened.

According to Crutchie, this was called _having no chill,_ but Spot thought it was rather efficient of him, showing up the very next day with the two books he was returning. He even brought the receipt.

He hadn’t even considered that Elmer might not be working that day until he was reaching for the front door, and for a second he just stood there in front of the shop, praying to whoever was listening that Elmer was working today and his trip wasn’t all for naught. _What was the point of coming if Elmer wasn’t even there?_

Then he shook his head. _You’re being ridiculous._ This dumb crush on someone he didn’t even _know_ was getting slightly out of hand. He needed to calm down. He was just here to return the books.

Spot opened the door to the bookshop and narrowly avoided jumping up and down when he saw Elmer, sitting on the counter, reading his book once more. This time, however, Elmer noticed when the door opened, and upon seeing Spot, his eyes widened with recognition.

“It’s Spot, right?” he asked, putting his book facedown on the counter beside him and smiling wide. “What can I do for you today?”

“Hi,” said Spot breathlessly, because he’d forgotten, like some kind of _idiot,_ about Elmer’s dimples. “I’m here to return… books?”

“Oh, of course.” Elmer swung a leg around and hopped off the counter. “You had the plant dictionaries, right?”

“Right,” Spot said. “My roommate only needed one, so I’m here to… return the other two.”

“Fantastic.” Elmer moved around behind the counter, finding a post-it note to stick in his book as a placemarker and sliding it off the counter, then stepping over to the cash register. “You want to _return…_ ” he murmured, pressing a button, “ _two books…_ Do you have the receipt?”

“I do, actually,” Spot said, reaching in the pocket of his jacket and bringing out the receipt.

“Wonderful,” sighed Elmer. “That makes my job _so_ much easier, thank you.” He took the receipt from Spot and pressed a few more buttons. One of them seemed to be jammed, and he stabbed at it with his finger a few times before bringing his entire fist down on the register. The money drawer opened with a cheerful _ding,_ and Elmer swore under his breath.

“Sorry,” he muttered to Spot, his eyes still fixed on the stubborn cash register. “It’s a piece of shit that’s been busted for years, but my boss insists on keeping it. Do you want your money back in cash, or on credit with the store?”

“On credit… what does that mean?” Spot asked.

“Means that the next two books you buy are on the house.” Elmer considered that, then amended, “On the _store,_ I suppose. But you probably just want the money in cash-”

“No, wait,” said Spot, ignoring the tiny voice in his head screaming _take the money!_ “I could do that… credit thing.”

Elmer looked up at him through his long eyelashes. “Are you planning on coming back here often, Spot?” His tone was teasing, but the look in his eyes was genuine.

“I think I will,” Spot said, making an executive decision and effectively silencing the little voice in his head. “After all, it’s not every day you meet someone and then literally _save their life._ I think we have a bond forming, Elmer.”

Elmer spluttered. “Excuse me? You’re the reason I was up there in the first place!”

“Hey,” Spot said, pointing at him warningly. “I _offered_ to climb up there instead of you. This is not my fault.”

“It was your book,” Elmer argued.

“It was _my roommate’s_ book,” Spot corrected.

Elmer crossed his arms, looking like he was doing his best to hide his smile and _failing miserably._ “So I suppose this whole thing is your _roommate’s_ fault, too.”

“Well, it sure isn’t mine.” Spot suspected that he was _also_ doing a shitty job of hiding his smile, but he couldn’t find it in himself to care.

“Whatever you say, Spot,” Elmer said, punching another button on the cash register. “Alright, your books have officially been returned. Want to go look for your new books now, or are you coming back some other time?”

Spot opened his mouth to answer, but at that moment, the front door of the shop opened, and Albert came in, wearing a different snapback but the same obnoxious grin. Spot instinctively backed away from the counter, and Albert, knowingly or not, slid into his place, leaning across the counter and smiling and their boyfriend.

“Elmer,” they announced, “love of my life, light of my existence.”

“What do you want?” Elmer asked, sliding Spot’s returned books over on the counter. Albert took this as an invitation to lean closer, and Spot, sensing he was interrupting something, suddenly became very interested in a shelf of books right beside him.

Albert pouted. “Can’t I just come in here to say _hi_ to you?”

Elmer crossed his arms, and Albert snickered. “Tough crowd. Alright, your lunch break’s in twenty minutes. Want to go to Jacobi’s?”

“If you’re paying,” Elmer replied, and Spot did the math, figuring that Albert was probably going to stay in the shop and bug Elmer for another twenty minutes until his break, which meant that Spot should probably vacate the premises. _Now._

“I’m just going to…” He gestured awkwardly towards the door, and, seeming to remember he had a customer, Elmer turned to look at him, expression puzzled for a second before melting into an apologetic smile.

“Sorry, Spot. See you another time?” he asked, and Spot nodded, making his exit as quickly as possible and doing his best not to look back at Elmer as he left.

**[me] crutch what r u doing right now**

**[crutch] depends**

**[crutch] do you need a consoler, someone to whine at, someone to cry with, or a drinking buddy?**

**[me] what if i said all 4**

**[crutch] spot conlon it is not even three o clock yet we are not going drinking**

Spot looked at the top of his phone screen. Two in the afternoon, which was kind of… _late_ to be having a lunch break. He hoped Elmer got to eat snacks on the job, because he knew he personally would be _starving._

**[crutch] is this about elmer?**

_Busted._ There was no point in trying to deny it- he’d pretty much poured his heart out to Crutchie the day before, and besides, with Crutchie’s track record of falling in love with two of his best friends at once, Crutchie wasn’t exactly the type to judge.

**[me] its….. quite possible**

**[crutch] you’re a mess**

**[me] stfu ass i have a broken heart**

**[me] handle w care, and all that**

**[crutch] …**

**[crutch] is it really that serious?**

**[crutch] do you really like him that much?**

**[me] no**

**[me] this is purely phys. attraction**

**[me] i just kinda want 2 kiss him**

**[me] and he felt rly good in my arms i’d like that again**

**[me] and it kinda hurts when his partner flirts w him in front of me?**

Spot froze as he sent the last text, because _damn,_ he sounded desperate. Desperate and in love.

He had it _bad,_ he realized, just as Crutchie said it.

**[crutch] my god you’ve got it bad**

**[crutch] come home**

**[crutch] I can’t promise alcohol but we’ve got disney movies**

**[me] ur a gem crutch**

**[crutch] I know**

**[crutch] :)**

**~**

Crutchie had, sure enough, pulled up a queue of Disney movies on Netflix when Spot got home.

“I have a paper to write,” he said, pointing the remote at Spot threateningly. “And at _least_ three research topics I could be researching right now. Instead, I am having an impromptu Take-Care-Of-Spot day, so you are going to sit down and watch the damn movie while you tell me about this _Elmer_ guy.”

Spot knew better than to argue. He obediently sat down on the couch beside Crutchie, and Crutchie started _The Lion King_ while Spot began to tell Crutchie all about Elmer: how cute he was, how he’d climbed a makeshift ladder made from a stepstool, a turned-over crate, and a prayer, just to get a book for Spot (“For _me,_ ” Crutchie clarified, and Spot nodded), and how every time Albert came into the shop, the pit in Spot’s stomach dug itself a little deeper.

“You’ve got it fucking _bad,_ ” Crutchie said again, sounding both awed and sorry. “You’ve known this guy for _two days,_ and you can already name every single feature of his face, as well as the exact sound of his laugh.”

“To be fair, it is a _very attractive_ face, and a _very nice_ laugh,” Spot defended himself, but Crutchie waved a dismissive hand.

“Whatever. The _point_ is, you’ve got it _bad,_ man. There are a number of solutions to this problem.”

“It’s not a _problem,_ exactly-”

“What color are his eyes?” Crutchie interrupted.

“Brown, but like a weird golden brown. Why?” Spot responded almost instantly, then realized that maybe his reply had been a _tad_ too fast. “Shit _fuck.”_

“It’s a problem,” Crutchie said, and this time, Spot didn’t argue. It was definitely a problem.

“So,” said Crutchie, continuing as if there had been no interruption, “as I was saying, there are several ways we can fix this problem. Solution number one: you get over him, which _clearly_ isn’t happening anytime soon, so we can probably just move on to solution two: _ask the man out._ ”

“Crutch, he has a partner. Like, a romantic one. _He is currently in a relationship with someone else._ ”

“Are you sure?” Crutchie asked innocently.

“Dude, _yes._ Albert does things like… blow him kisses and call him the _light of their entire existence._ ”

“You and Blink do that,” Crutchie pointed out, and Spot scoffed.

“Yeah, when we’re _drunk,_ ” he said, rolling his eyes. “They’re dating, Crutchie. I can just tell, alright?”

Crutchie tapped his chin thoughtfully. “Alright. So they’re dating. Maybe Elmer’s poly.”

“And maybe he’s not,” countered Spot. “Maybe he gets so uncomfortable with my asking that he completely shuts me out and in my shame, I can never return to Totally Booked again.”

“Maybe,” Crutchie said with a shrug. “Although if he gets _that_ uncomfortable at the mention of polyamory, he’s _probably_ not the one for you, dude.”

Spot’s shoulders slumped. “You’re right. I just… _damn,_ this sucks.”

“I’m telling you,” said Crutchie, “ask the man out. If he says no, that he’s dating someone, then fine! That’s just the way it is. But if he’s poly, or if he’s not even _dating_ Albert, then this all works out in your favor.”

“I can’t just walk in there and go, _hey, remember me? And how we’ve only known each other for two days? Let’s go on a date!_ ”

“Why not?” Crutchie asked. “That’s how Mush asked Blink out, and they had known each other for like… fifteen minutes?”

“Mush and Blink were destined to be together,” Spot said. “The fucking _stars_ aligned so that those two could get their shit together and fall in love.”

“Fair enough.” Crutchie’s attention was captured by the screen for a second, where the wildebeest stampede was ending, the dust was clearing, and little Simba was running around, looking for his father. “Fuck, I hate this part.”

“Me too,” Spot agreed, but he stopped talking long enough to watch the entire scene play out. When Scar ordered the hyenas after Simba, Crutchie turned back to him.

“I say go for it,” he said. “What’s the worst that could happen?”

“He could reject me,” Spot said, at this point just trying to be difficult, “and I can never go back to the bookstore and use my store credits to buy more fucking _books._ ”

“You have _store credits?_ ” demanded Crutchie. “What the _hell,_ man? I thought we were friends. Why haven’t you bought me any books with these _store credits?_ ”

“I got them _today,_ chill out,” Spot snapped, “and besides, you can use the credits yourself. I’m just never going to go back to the bookstore. That’s my solution.”

Crutchie stared at him for a long moment. Onscreen, the vultures started circling Simba.

Finally, he said, “That’s a shitty solution.”

“I know,” Spot said miserably.

“Tell you what,” offered Crutchie. “I’ll come with you.”

“What?”

“Next time you go to the bookstore, I’ll come with you. For moral support. And because I want to see if this Elmer is anything to sneeze at.”

  
“You really don’t have to-”

“ _And,”_ Crutchie continued, like Spot hadn’t even spoken. “I need to pick out what books you’re going to buy me on this store credit thing you have going on.”

“What if I wanted to buy books for myself?”

“Please. When’s the last time you read something that wasn’t for a class?” Crutchie demanded. When Spot failed to answer, he nodded. “That’s what I thought. When do you want to go back?”

 _Tomorrow,_ Spot wanted to say, but that sounded desperate, even for him. Instead, he gave a noncommittal shrug. “Whenever.”

“Can you survive until Saturday?” Crutchie asked.

“What do you mean, _can I survive-_ ” Spot began.

“Great! We’ll go on Saturday,” Crutchie said cheerfully. “So that we can stare at Cute Employee Elmer, and buy books, and try to end a relationship.”

“We are _not-_ ”

“Glad we had this talk,” said Crutchie, patting Spot’s knee. “Now shut up and watch the movie.”

~

Despite Crutchie’s doubts, Spot survived until Saturday.

Elmer was, thankfully, working at the bookstore again, and he was just as charming as ever. When Crutchie asked about plant books and cookbooks and all sorts of other books that didn’t seem to have anything to do with each other, Elmer was able to identify the book as well as find it somewhere in his maze of a shop. He really _did_ have the entire layout of the place memorized. Spot tried not to let the fact that he was _pretty fucking impressed_ show on his face.

At one point, Crutchie demanded to know about the incident he was beginning to refer to simply as “The Catch,” and, despite how violently Spot was shaking his head in the background, Elmer launched into a dramatic retelling of the entire event.

When Elmer told Crutchie about how Spot had caught him, he reached out and gripped one of Spot’s biceps, squeezing ever so slightly, and Spot thought he might pass out. He narrowly avoided making a face that Crutchie would have teased him about until his dying day by biting the inside of his cheek and crossing his arms, scowling at Elmer. This only made Elmer beam at him, and Spot felt the corner of his mouth twitch into a smile.

When Elmer turned back around to point a book out to Crutchie, Crutchie mouthed _damn_ at Spot.

Spot flipped him off behind Elmer’s back.

After probably forty five minutes in Totally Booked, Crutchie’s phone began to ring, and he pulled it out of his pocket with a slight sigh. “Oh, it’s my boyfriend.”

“Which one?” Spot asked, recognizing this as a golden opportunity to figure out Elmer’s stance on polyamory. He watched Elmer’s face closely, looking for any signs of disgust, or confusion, but Elmer just smiled at Crutchie.

“Jack,” Crutchie said, as he picked up the phone. “Hey, babe.”

He tucked the phone between his shoulder and his ear and waved at Spot and Elmer, indicating that he would only be a second, and that they should go on. Elmer and Spot exchanged a look, and Spot shrugged, so Elmer continued leading him through the store, pointing out books he thought Crutchie might be interested in.

“So how about you, Spot?” he finally asked. He’d just stretched up to point out a book about birds that Spot remarked that his friend Finch would love, and now they were face-to-face, those golden-brown eyes nearly level with Spot’s.

“What about me?” Spot asked, somewhat breathlessly. Elmer seemed to have that effect on him; whenever he was around, Spot suddenly found breathing to be a chore.

 _Get a grip,_ he told himself.

“What kinds of books do _you_ like to read?” Elmer asked, tilting his head with an inquisitive look on his face. “You’ve been here for your roommate a few times, and just now, you were naming several friends who would love this book or that book, but what kinds of things do _you_ like to read?”

Spot found himself at a sudden loss for words, because the truth was, he hadn’t read anything for fun in a long, long time. “I… don’t know,” he admitted. “Usually when I’m in a bookstore, it’s to get textbooks, or an assigned reading for class.”

Elmer nodded slowly, chewing on his bottom lip as he processed this. “What was your favorite book when you were a kid?”

“When I was a kid?” Spot racked his brains. It didn’t take long, though, before an image popped into his head. “ _Lord of the Rings._ ”

Elmer laughed, sounding slightly disbelieving. “No way.”

“Way,” Spot said. “I was a total fantasy nerd.”

“ _You_ were a _fantasy nerd?_ ” Elmer looked delighted. “Wait, how long has it been since you’ve read _Lord of the Rings_?”

“Oh, God, too long,” Spot said. “The last time I read it all the way through was like… fifth grade?”

Elmer made a wounded noise. “ _Fifth grade_? What year are you in now?”

“…Second,” Spot said, in an almost ashamed tone, if Spot Conlon was ever ashamed of anything, which he wasn’t.

“Hey, me too!” Elmer said brightly, then returned to the issue at hand. “Jesus _Christ,_ Spot, that’s too long.”

“I never have any time!” Spot said defensively. “School and work take up most of my day, and then I’ve got a few night classes and a very important social calendar to keep up with.”

Elmer snorted. “Sure.”

 Spot made an offended noise. “Excuse me? I’ll have you know that I am a very popular guy.”

“Ooh,” Elmer said dramatically, wiggling his eyebrows, which should not have been as attractive as it was. “Have a lot of luck with the _la-dies?_ ”

“And the _gentle-men,_ ” Spot shot back, in the same tone of voice, before he could even process what he was saying. _Shit_. Now the cute bookstore employee knew that Spot liked men and _probably_ could piece together that Spot had a _raging crush_ on him.

 _Oh well,_ he thought, bracing himself for the inevitable _wait, you like guys?_ from Elmer.

It never came. Instead, Elmer laughed and said, “Hey, same,” and that was that.

At that moment, Crutchie poked his head around the bookshelf Elmer and Spot were standing in front of.

“ _There_ you are,” he exclaimed. “This bookstore is a lot bigger than it looks.”

“We get that a lot,” Elmer said with a nod. “Spot here was just telling me about he’s a _fantasy nerd._ ”

“ _Was_ a fantasy nerd,” Spot corrected, but Crutchie was already whirling around towards him, a look of outrage on his face.

“And you never _told_ me? What the fuck, Conlon?”

“It wasn’t… public information,” Spot muttered, feeling his face redden.

Crutchie just stared at him for a long moment, betrayal written all over his features, before he snapped out of it and said, “Whatever. I’m going to spend time with my boyfriends now, so I’m leaving you here, in the hands of Elmer. But do not think for a second,” he added fiercely, taking one hand off its crutch handle to point menacingly at Spot, “that I have forgotten about this backstabbing. We are having _words_ when I get home. _Words,_ Conlon.”

“Understood,” Spot promised, and with one final threatening jab of his finger at Spot, Crutchie turned around and left the shop.

Elmer waited until Crutchie was gone to say, “Damn. That’s your roommate?”

“Yeah, that’s Charlie,” Spot said. “He’s dramatic and sometimes a little frightening, but he’s also possibly the only reason I’m still alive at this point in the semester.”

“Wish I had a roommate like that,” Elmer said wistfully. “My roommate and I… we don’t exactly get along.”

“Shit, that sucks, man,” Spot said sympathetically, because after a year and a half of having Crutchie for a roommate, he couldn’t imagine rooming with anyone else. “Just, like, opinion differences, or…?”

Elmer winced, looking down. “He’s kind of… a homophobe. Which I didn’t realize until I tried to bring someone home, and he flipped his shit.”

“ _Fuck,_ Elmer.” Spot didn’t know what to say. He’d had plenty of experience with homophobes in his life, and he knew how damaging they could be. “Why do you stay with that piece of shit? Why don’t you request a new roommate?”

“It’s not all that bad,” Elmer said, looking embarrassed. “He hasn’t, like, _hurt_ me or anything. He’s just a dick.”

“You can tell the office that he’s harassing you. Which he _is,_ ” Spot snapped, because all of a sudden he was _pissed-_ not at Elmer, but at the situation he was in, where he couldn’t bring people by his room without his roommate raising hell.

“Spot,” Elmer said gently, “it’s fine. Seriously. If it gets any worse, I’ll say something.”

“You’d better,” Spot said, and then, to lighten the mood, he crossed his arms, trying to look as intimidating as possible. “Besides, if it gets any worse, you can just bring _me_ home, and I’ll beat the shit out of him.”

Elmer laughed a little awkwardly, and with a jolt, Spot realized what he had just said. _Shit._

“Shit, I didn’t mean-” he began, but Elmer, still laughing slightly, waved him off.

“You’re fine, Spot,” he said. “I know you didn’t mean it… _like that._ ”

After a pause that was probably too long for comfort, Elmer turned and kept walking along the bookshelves. At the end of the aisle, he turned to see if Spot was following him, and Spot, realizing that Elmer was giving him the opportunity to forget all about the awkwardness that had just happened, gratefully began walking with him again.

For another half hour or so, he listened as Elmer pointed out books, occasionally offering input or opinions or the name of one of his friends that would like the book in question, and it was…

 _Nice._ It was nice, spending time with Elmer without anyone else around, listening to Elmer talk about something he was so obviously passionate about.

But it was dangerous, too, because Spot could feel himself falling even harder for the cute bookstore employee. When Elmer found a book he liked, his eyes lit up and a fond smile came over his face, and Spot had to bite the inside of his cheek to stop from smiling goofily at whatever Elmer was saying. Once, Elmer was reaching for a book on a taller shelf- not as tall as _The Plant Dictionary: Sixth Edition’_ s shelf, mind you, but still slightly taller than Elmer could reach – and Spot had allowed himself a peek at the sliver of skin that appeared as Elmer’s shirt rode up.

This was risky, and he knew it. He couldn’t afford to be _crushing_ on a guy who _had a partner._

 _It’s not a crush,_ he tried to tell himself. _You can appreciate how attractive someone is without_ crushing _on them._

The larger, more sensible part of his brain scoffed, _Yeah, right. Dipshit._

“I’m sorry, this is so _nerdy,_ ” Elmer said eventually, as they were perusing the bookshelves against one wall, having started at the front counter and worked their way back gradually. “I’m just walking you around and showing you _books,_ when you said yourself you’re not even a reader.”

He turned to look at Spot, and Spot considered the least incriminating thing to say. _I like spending time with you? I don’t mind, as long as I can keep looking at you, because you’re cute as hell? Why do you have a partner who isn’t me?_

Finally, he settled on, “I _used_ to read. And I still love reading. I just don’t have enough time.”

“I’m beginning to think you’re just humoring me,” Elmer said, a wry grin playing at his lips.

 _Fuck, don’t look at his lips._ “The day I do something to _humor someone_ is the day the fucking world ends,” Spot said.

“Are you sure?” Elmer asked uncertainly. “Because if you’re bored, we don’t have to- I mean, if you want to go home-”

“ _Please,_ ” Spot scoffed, trying to pass it off as a snort and not a plea to keep going. “Charlie’s probably at my place, making out with his boys. I have no desire to go back there right now. Besides, I like this.” _I like you._ “It’s fucking impressive.”

“What is?” Elmer looked confused.

 _You are._ “You know…. the way you memorized the placement of every book in this store. It’s pretty… cool, man,” Spot finished lamely, because the words that he _wanted_ to say were entirely too obvious and _lovestruck._

He was rewarded, however, when Elmer’s face broke into a genuine smile, and his cheeks darkened with a blush. “You really think so?”

“Dude. Seriously? You have a _killer_ memory. That’s pretty fucking impressive to me. You’re a pretty impressive person,” Spot said, and then forced himself to shut up before he revealed any more about how _impressive_ he thought Elmer really was.

“Thank you,” Elmer said softly, and it was then that Spot realized that, as he was speaking, he’d slowly been moving closer to Elmer. They were now face-to-face, and Spot was _inches_ away from those freckles. “That means a lot to me, Spot.”

“Anytime,” Spot breathed. _Christ, get a hold of yourself._

Neither of them moved. Neither of them backed up. For a long moment, it was just the two of them, standing in front of the bookshelf, looking at each other’s faces and in each other’s eyes, _anywhere but his lips, don’t look at his lips, you idiot,_ and Spot couldn’t handle this. He couldn’t deal with being this close to Elmer without being able to—without being _allowed to—_

“Hi, Spot,” Elmer said quietly, and was it Spot’s imagination, or had their faces drifted closer together? He _swore_ he could feel Elmer’s breath on his own lips.

“Hey, Elmer,” Spot replied, just as quietly, and then their lips were almost touching, they were _so close,_ and he thought, _this is it_

Somewhere in the front of the shop, the door crashed open, and someone yelled, “ _EL-MER!”_

Spot jerked away from Elmer, swearing softly. _Someone was here,_ and because Spot’s luck today was just _the best,_ it sounded like Albert.

Wonderful. The partner of the man Spot had almost just kissed in the back of his bookshop.

All of a sudden, Totally Booked seemed to stuffy, too crowded, and Spot needed air, or a drink, or just a good scream. He gave Elmer one last, lingering look before turning and fleeing.

Somehow, he found his way to the front of the shop, where, sure enough, Albert was leaning against the counter.

“Hey,” they said, throwing him finger guns as he skidded to a stop in front of the door. “Spot, right? Did you see Elmer back there anywhere?”

 _Did I ever,_ Spot thought, but he just shook his head. In the back of the store, Elmer called, “Spot?”

“Hey, are you okay? What’s going on?” Albert asked, peering at Spot more closely.

“Spot, _wait!_ ”

Elmer sounded pleading, and like he meant it, but Spot couldn’t deal with _any of this_ right now.

“Spot, what’s going on?” Albert repeated.

“Tell him I’m sorry,” he whispered to Albert, and promptly fled the bookshop.

~

Spot had been right; Crutchie and his boys _were_ making out when he arrived back at the apartment.

On the _couch,_ too, but Spot couldn’t find it in him to be mad. He’d spent the entire ride home cursing himself, going over what had happened back in the bookshop and _hating_ himself for letting it go that far. He shouldn’t have even _been_ that close to Elmer. He shouldn’t have tried to _kiss_ him.  Elmer had a _partner,_ and Spot was a piece of _shit_ for forgetting about them.

“Stupid,” he muttered to himself as he let himself into his apartment. “Stupid, _stupid._ ”

Crutchie looked up as the door opened, and he elbowed Jack beside him. Jack had the good grace to stop sucking face with Davey, but he didn’t bother getting out of his lap.

“Don’t mind me,” Spot snapped, marching past them and into his room. He heard Crutchie ask, “Spot?” but he couldn’t be bothered to stop or turn around. He just knew he had to get into his room and close the door before he did something stupid, like cry.

He didn’t cry, though. He shut the door tight behind him and pressed his back against it, sliding down into a sitting position and bringing his knees up to his chest. Burying his head in his arms, he made a silent resolve to himself: he was never going back to that bookstore. _Ever._

Spot heard Crutchie slide off the couch, heard the _click_ of his crutches against the floor, and then there was a knock at his door and a soft, “Spot? What’s going on?”

He figured it would be rude to tell Crutchie to fuck off _,_ but he was in no mood to talk about what he’d just done. What he’d just _almost_ done. “Charlie, not now.”

“What happened?” Crutchie asked. “Spot, what happened after I left?”

Spot remained silent, not trusting his voice not to crack and betray him.

“ _Sean._ ” Crutchie’s voice grew hard. “What happened? Do I need to-”

“Piss _off,_ Crutch,” Spot snapped, thumping his head back against the door. It probably sounded, to someone standing on the outside, that he’d thrown something across the room.

Crutchie went silent, and for a second, Spot thought he’d given up and walked away. Then he said, quietly, so that his boyfriends probably couldn’t hear, “Just let me know when you want to talk, alright?”

Spot nodded, but by the time he realized that Crutchie couldn’t see him through the door, his roommate had already moved back towards the couch, his crutches _click-click-click_ ing on the floor as he went.

“God,” Spot sighed, squeezing his eyes shut and wondering just how huge of a mess he’d gotten himself into this time.

As much as he tried to forget about the almost-kiss, every detail seemed to be permanently etched into his brain. He remembered the way Elmer’s voice had gone husky and low when Spot moved up close to him. He remembered Elmer’s hooded gaze, and the way his eyes kept flicking down to Spot’s lips as they stared at each other. He remembered the exact shade of Elmer’s eyes, and how many freckles he could see splashed across Elmer’s face in the bright shop lights.

He remembered what Elmer’s breath felt like against his own lips, and he remembered that terrifying, beautiful second when he thought Elmer was going to kiss him.

Most of all, he thought of the look on Elmer’s face when Spot had backed up and run from him, confused and hurt and questioning all at once.

“ _God,_ ” he said again, burying his face in his hands. It was time to face the facts: he had wanted Elmer to kiss him. _Badly._

But there was Albert, who Elmer obviously liked. _A lot._ And who obviously liked Elmer. _A lot._

Spot had made a resolution to himself a while ago, after a relationship that went south because he was (unknowingly) going out with someone who was engaged already, that he wasn’t going to be a homewrecker. _Ever._ He wasn’t going to break two happy people up just because he couldn’t keep his feelings in check.

Which meant that he needed to be done with Elmer. He needed to be done crushing on the cute bookstore employee, and he needed to stop seeing him. If he didn’t ever _see_ Elmer, then he couldn’t _almost kiss and potentially ruin_ Elmer. It was that simple.

This was a good plan, he told himself, and tried to believe it. Tried to ignore the twinge in his chest that came with the realization that he wasn’t going to get to see Elmer again.

Tried to _chill out,_ because _Christ,_ he was in too deep.

~

Spot had no memory of falling asleep against the door, but when he woke up, his back was aching in a million different places and his neck was sore from resting his head in his arms all night.

“Fuck,” he swore, stretching out his body painfully and listening his joints pop and crack. With a slight panic, his hands flew to his chest, and he realized that he’d been wearing his binder since his trip to the bookstore yesterday. With this realization came a few more… _colorful_ curses, and then he was taking off his jacket and his shirt and then his binder as quickly as he could. He prodded tentatively at his chest and ribs, making sure he hadn’t done something irreparable, and then he felt the slight twinge in one of the ribs on his left side.

It wasn’t cracked and probably wasn’t even bruised, but Spot could probably stand to go a while without putting the binder back on; he was pushing his luck already.

 _Looks like it’s big sweatshirts today,_ he thought glumly, going to his dresser and pulling out a t-shirt and an old high school baseball sweatshirt that he’d probably stolen from Jack at some point or another. The baggy sweatshirt helped hide the fact that he had any sort of curvature whatsoever, but he still wished he hadn’t fucked up and slept in his binder- he’d be more comfortable wearing it today.

Oh, well. At least he didn’t have class today, so he could sit in his big baggy sweatshirt and mope about his love life like he really wanted to.

As soon as he emerged from his room and padded into the kitchen, Crutchie greeted him with a smile and a, “He lives!” that was met with a cheer from Jack and a congratulatory raise of his mug from Davey.

“That’s debatable,” Spot grumbled, but he accepted coffee from Crutchie and settled himself on a stool at the kitchen island, listening to Jack and Davey bicker about exactly who had kicked who out of bed last night.

Finally, Jack seemed to get bored with the conversation, probably because it was clear he was losing, and turned to Spot, a gleam in his eye. “So when do we get to hear about your mystery man?”

“ _Jack,_ ” both of his boyfriends admonished, but Jack grinned shamelessly.

“Never,” muttered Spot, “because he’s not _my_ anything. He has a partner, and I almost went and… _destroyed_ their fucking relationship yesterday-”

“You _what?_ ” Crutchie asked, and Spot realized that maybe this was not the best way to have worded things.

“He almost kissed me,” Spot admitted slowly.

“ _Excellent,_ ” Jack gushed, and Spot pointed a warning finger at him.

“No,” he said. “Not _excellent._ Bad. _Very_ bad. He’s dating someone else, and I almost went and _fucked it all up._ ”

“Wait, if _he_ tried to kiss _you,_ ” Davey mused, “then how is it your fault?”

“I led him on,” Spot said, knowing as soon as he spoke the words aloud that they were true. “I flirted with him and _might_ have instigated the _position_ where we almost kissed, and…” He trailed off. “The point is, it’s my fault, and I need to take the blame for it. I also need to never see him again.”

“ _What_? Why?” Jack squawked in alarm.

“Jack, it’s dangerous,” Spot said in exasperation. “What if next time, when he leans in, I don’t stop him? There needs to never _be_ a next time, so I just need to stop going by the bookshop where he works. It’s plain and simple.”

Davey was frowning into his coffee mug, and Crutchie looked solemnly down at his plate of breakfast, but Jack just looked _pissed._

“Hey,” he said. “Listen. _Sean._ You can’t beat yourself up over this. It _wasn’t your fault._ Besides, how do you know he’s dating someone? Did he tell you?”

“…No,” Spot admitted. “But they come into the shop all the time, and their body language is clearly romantic. They look at Elmer like he’s hung the fucking moon.”

“So do you,” Crutchie pointed out. “And he looks right back at you like you’re the only person in the world.”

“Crutch, stop trying to make me feel better,” Spot snapped. “I’m done with him, okay? I’m not going to be a homewrecker. Not again.”

“Again?” Davey asked, but was silenced when Jack elbowed him hard and hissed, “ _Tell you later._ ”

“Maybe they aren’t dating,” Crutchie said. “Maybe they’re just affectionate friends.”

Spot rolled his eyes. “Okay, Crutch. Sure. _Affectionate friends_ who call each other pet names and look at each other with goo-goo eyes and drape themselves over each other.”

“That… sounds like you and Blink,” said Jack slowly.

“When we’re _drunk!_ ” Spot cried, because he’d already had this conversation once with Crutchie and wasn’t looking forward to having it again. “Look, guys, you’re missing the point. The _point_ is, I’m never going to that fucking bookstore again, because I _won’t_ wreck Elmer’s happiness. I can’t.”

Silence reigned at the kitchen island for a solid thirty seconds. Then Jack whistled. “You’ve got it _ba-ad,_ Spotty.”

“Fuck you,” Spot growled, while Crutchie and Davey both reached over to punch Jack in the arm.

“What?” Jack demanded defensively. “Don’t tell me you two can’t see it. He’s head over heels for this boy!”

“Maybe,” said Davey, addressing Spot in a cool, collected manner, so unlike his boyfriend, “it would be best for you to stay away. Just for a little bit. Wait for the feelings to fade, and then you can move on with your life. It’s just another heartbreak, Spot. It’s going to be alright, I promise.”

“You’re one to talk,” Spot muttered. “You three are in a functional fucking relationship with each other. I need to go confide with some single people.”

“Good luck finding anyone else who will listen to your whining,” Jack snorted, and Spot managed to take a sip of coffee and flip him off at the same time.

“Davey’s probably right,” Crutchie said. “Maybe a little break from the bookstore would be a good idea. Just wait for the feelings to fade a little bit.”

“Yeah,” added Jack, “and then we can find you a cute boy who _isn’t_ in a relationship.”

“Jack, I swear to God-” Spot warned. Crutchie put a hand on Spot’s shoulder and squeezed slightly, effectively cutting off Spot’s threat and turning his attention toward his roommate, who was looking at him with a sad smile.

“You’ll be alright, Sean,” he said. “What do you want to do today?”

“Mope,” Spot replied, and Crutchie laughed. Maybe he’d thought he was joking.

“Come on, we’ve got to _go_ somewhere,” Jack said. “We should go do something _fun._ ”

Davey snapped his fingers. “That new coffee shop.”

“The one down the street from Jacobi’s?” Crutchie asked, and Jack made an _ooh_ noise.

“Let’s go there,” he said. “I could go for some more coffee later.”

“Jack,” said Davey patiently. “You _just_ finished that cup of coffee.”

“Let my live my _life,_ Jacobs.”

“I would rather stay in the apartment and mope,” Spot announced loudly over their bickering, because he really did not feel like entering the real world today. “Also, I have an essay to write.”

“Too bad, Spotty,” Jack said. “You’re stuck with us now.”

Crutchie gave him a sympathetic look. “If you can’t go out today, we understand.”

“No, we do _not,_ ” Jack said firmly. He turned to Spot, his expression pleading now. “Just come with us. It’ll be fun, and besides, you _like_ coffee.”

Spot rolled his eyes, already resigning himself to his fate, knowing that, somehow or another, his brother and his brother’s boys were going to convince him to go. Besides, he kind of _wanted_ to go, wanted to prove that yesterday hadn’t meant anything, and he was _fine._ He was going to go out with Crutchie and his boys today, and _dammit_ he was going to try to have a nice time if it killed him.

“I’m in,” he finally said, prompting a whoop from Jack and a small smile from Crutchie. “Just let me… wake up first.”

Crutchie narrowed his eyes at him, taking in the baggy sweatshirt, the way Spot winced when he stretched. “Did you take your binder off last night?”

Immediately, all eyes in the kitchen went to Spot, because three of the four people seated at the kitchen island wore binders, and they regularly reminded each other to be safe with them.

Spot looked down at the pattern of the countertop. “It’s possible I…. fell asleep as soon as we finished talking through the door, and I… forgot?”

“Fucking _hell,_ Spot,” Crutchie sighed. “You need to take care of yourself.”

“I didn’t mean to,” Spot said, “and besides, as soon as I woke up and realized I still had it on, I took it off. I’m not wearing it right now.”

“Can’t even tell, with the sweatshirt on,” Jack observed, and Spot shot him a thankful look.

“Just as long as you didn’t hurt yourself,” Crutchie said, chewing on his thumbnail. There had been a scare, back when they were all new to binding and transitioning and whatnot, where Jack had left his binder on for _far_ too long and had ended up collapsing during rehearsals one day, prompting a trip to the hospital and a speech by Medda about safe binding techniques.

“I can find hours and an address,” Davey said as he pulled out his phone. “What’s the coffee shop called?”

“It’s a pun or something, I don’t know,” Crutchie said. “Just look up places near us, it should pop up.”

Davey typed something into his phone, then scrolled down a list of options. “Starbucks? Manhattan Coffee? Empire State Cup?”

“Do any of those, and I mean _any_ of those, sound like puns to you?” Crutchie demanded. “We’re looking for cheesy coffee puns here, Davey. Help us out.”

Davey snapped his fingers. “Spill the Beans. I’ve got the address.”

“ _There_ we go,” Jack said, sounding satisfied. “Spill the Beans is the wonderfully horrible pun we’ve all been waiting for. When can we go?”

“It opened at five this morning,” said Davey, “so as soon as we get our shit together, we’re good to go.”

Crutchie pointed at Spot. “You heard the man. Get your shit together, we’re leaving soon.”

“Crutch, I _just woke up-_ ”

“So coffee will be good for you,” Crutchie replied cheerfully. “Chop chop, gentlemen. We have a horrible pun to visit.”

~

Spill the Beans was, in Spot’s opinion, one of the nicest coffee shops he’d ever been in, probably to make up for the fact that its name was a _devastating_ pun.

Considering its only competition was the crappy Starbucks down the street from one of Spot’s classes and the overpriced hipster coffee shop Mush and Blink had met at, this wasn’t saying much, but still, it was a nice little place. It was cozy and warm and smelled like coffee and something sharper, like mint, and Spot could feel the tension in his shoulders loosening somewhat as he walked in the front door.

Of course, his luck couldn’t last for long, because then he saw who was working the front counter, and his ease was gone, replaced by confusion and then realization and then him immediately throwing his guards up, because he was not about to cause a scene in a public setting with this person. The person whose barista apron bore a nametag that said _Albert DaSilva._

“Welcome to Spill the Beans,” Albert said, grinning at Jack. They were wearing a blue snapback the same color as their barista apron, and their smile hadn’t gotten any less bright since yesterday. Spot couldn’t believe his luck, because _of fucking course_ Albert worked here, at the one place he’d agreed to come today.

_Of course._

Because karma was a _bitch._

“What can I get for you-” Albert’s eyes slid over their ragtag, half-asleep little group, and their eyes fell on Spot, narrowing instantly. “ _You again?_ ”

“Me again,” Spot agreed through gritted teeth, because just the _sight_ of Albert was enough to make him regret coming here. Elmer had no doubt told Albert all about the little incident yesterday where Spot had almost _kissed_ a guy _in a relationship,_ and now Albert was probably going to cause a scene in front of everyone.

Crutchie suddenly jolted, as if being woken from a dream. He no doubt recognized Albert, and realized that things were about to get ugly.

“Hey, Albert,” he said cheerfully, stepping forward almost protectively in front of Spot. “How are you?”

“Fine.” Albert’s eyes didn’t leave Spot. “What are _you_ doing here?”

“Getting coffee,” Spot said, like it should be obvious. “Planning on taking our orders?”

“Spot,” Crutchie warned, as Albert’s ears went red.

“Right,” Albert muttered. “What can I get for you?”

The others placed their orders, and Spot considered choosing a complicated drink with lots of ingredients just to spite Albert, but in the end, he just ordered a normal coffee and went to go sit down with Crutchie and his boys.

“I’m confused,” said Jack. “Why does that dude hate you so much?”

“Person,” Spot corrected. “And that… is Albert.”

Davey’s eyes widened. “Elmer’s… person.”

“Elmer’s partner,” Spot agreed.

“ _Oh,”_ Jack said in a small voice, and Spot nodded slowly.

“Do you think they know that Elmer almost… _you know?_ ” Crutchie asked, lowering his voice.

Spot shrugged. “Elmer definitely told them, so now I’m sure they’re just waiting for the right opportunity to kill me in a dark alley somewhere.”

“You don’t _know_ Elmer told them,” Jack tried. “Maybe he kept it from them. After all, you didn’t _kiss._ Maybe Albert isn’t _actually_ upset at you.”

“People in relationships _tell each other things,_ Jack,” Crutchie said, just as Albert came up to their table, a tray balanced on their shoulder.

“Your coffees,” they spat, and then deposited the tray loudly on their table before stomping away.

“Yes,” said Davey drily. “It _definitely_ looks like Albert _isn’t actually upset._ That is what this looks like.” He grabbed a napkin out of the canister on the table and used it to wipe off the table where some of the coffee had sloshed out of the cups.

“Well,” sighed Crutchie, “at least he didn’t cuss you out in front of the rest of the coffee shop. That’s a plus, right?”

“Sure,” Spot muttered, because suddenly, he didn’t want his coffee anymore. He wanted out of this damn shop. He wanted to go home, where he could write his essay in peace, with no Albert and no Elmer and no _happy couples_ around him while he was so miserably alone.

 _Could my luck get any worse?_ he thought dismally, looking into his cup of coffee.

All of a sudden, Crutchie’s hand landed on his arm. “Don’t look now,” he murmured, “but our best friend just walked through the front door.”

Spot whipped his head around and found that, yes, as a matter of fact, his luck _could_ get shitter, because Elmer was walking up to the counter, a small smile on his face as Albert put down the rag they’d been using to wipe down the espresso machine and gave a little wave.

“Fucking hell,” Spot growled, standing and pushing his chair back from the table. “I’m not doing this right now. I’ll be back at our place if anyone needs me.”

And with that, he left Spilled the Beans, feeling several pairs of eyes follow him out.

~

Spot went back to the apartment with every intention of getting his essay done, but instead, he sat on his bed and tried to convince himself why looking Elmer up on social media was a _terrible_ idea. It was creepy, and a little stalkerish, and besides, what if he fucked up and _liked_ something, alerting Elmer to his presence? Too many risks, and besides, there was no point. Elmer was _taken,_ and looking at pictures of him would only make Spot sadder.

He knew this. He knew all this, and yet he still clicked on the search bar, still typed in _Elmer…_

And then stopped, because he had no idea what Elmer’s last name was.

But he _did_ know Albert’s last name- he’d caught a glimpse of it on their nametag. _DaSilva,_ or something like that, and _Albert DaSilva_ yielded much better search results than just Elmer’s first name had.

Spot found Albert’s Twitter fairly easily (their bright red hair was unmistakable, even in a tiny profile picture), and he scrolled through it somewhat absently, looking for any mention of Elmer, hoping for a clue he could trace back to Elmer’s own profile.

Nothing for a week or so, and then about a week and a half back, he found a collection of photos from when Albert and their friends had gone clubbing. Everyone in the group was wearing tight, dark club clothes and bold makeup, and a quick scan of one of the group selfies produced Elmer, and- _Shit._

Spot felt his stomach bottom out, because the person taking the selfie hadn’t had very steady hands, so it was blurry and out of focus, but Elmer still looked _radiant._ His eyes were outlined with dark eyeliner, and the photo caught him mid-laugh, nose wrinkled at something Albert was saying beside him, and Spot stared for a good minute and a half before moving onto the next picture, which was Albert with some people Spot didn’t recognize.

The picture after that was Albert, Elmer, and another person, all posing like Charlie’s Angels. Elmer’s expression was mock-serious, and he was glaring at the camera with a defiant tilt of his head, his finger gun poised beside his head. Spot swallowed hard, because sure, he’d thought Elmer was cute as hell at first glance, but now…

That defiant expression made his knees weak, and he was glad he was already sitting on his bed, because Elmer wasn’t just _cute._ He was _hot as hell,_ and the look in his eyes, joking though his pose might have been, made Spot want Elmer to pin him against a wall.

 _Get a fucking grip,_ he told himself, and then, remembering his original mission, checked to see who Albert had tagged. People named Romeo, Tony, Specs, and JoJo seemed to be the most common, but Spot couldn’t find Elmer’s name _anywhere._ He was beginning to think Albert just had a shitty tagging system, when he stumbled across a caption that read: _With @dicktrack-higgins and elmer, who we still haven’t convinced to get a twitter #usuckman #jkweloveu #elmersglue_

 _No Twitter._ Damn.

Spot kept scrolling through Albert’s Twitter, keeping an eye out for the tag _#elmersglue,_ which is how Albert tagged all their pictures with Elmer in them. Most were from group events, clubbing or parties or skating or a night out to dinner, but one picture made him pause.

Elmer wasn’t in it, and Spot was about to move on past the picture, but Albert had captioned it with… something odd.

_date night with my favorite <3 thanks for loving me as well as you do_

It wasn’t a picture of Albert and Elmer. It was a picture of Albert and a guy Spot had to rack his brains to place as Tony. They were facing each other, foreheads pressed together and looking like the absolute picture of bliss. Albert looked… _happy,_ not teasing or grinning cheekily or mockingly. They genuinely looked like they were utterly in love with this Tony person.

Which… _couldn’t_ have been right, because Albert was dating Elmer.

_Weren’t they?_

“ _Aren’t_ they?” Spot asked out loud, sitting back from his laptop and looking at the ceiling, puzzled. He looked back down at his laptop screen, looked at the way Albert and this Tony person were gazing into each other’s eyes, and thought, _there’s no way._

Right?

A quick click through Tony’s account told Spot all he needed to know: Albert and Tony were _definitely_ an item. And Albert wasn’t showing… any kind of affection past friendly towards Elmer on their account.

Which meant… Elmer wasn’t dating Albert.

Hell, maybe Elmer wasn’t dating _anyone._

“ _Fuck,_ ” Spot swore ferociously, realizing something vital to the entire Elmer incident: if he hadn’t thought Elmer and Albert were dating…

… _He would have kissed Elmer._

There wasn’t a doubt in Spot’s mind; he _definitely_ wanted to kiss Elmer, and he _definitely_ would have done so yesterday in the bookshop had he not thought he was homewrecking.

And based on the way Elmer had leaned in, had kept _glancing at Spot’s lips_ , had seemed _entirely_ ready to close the distance between them… _Elmer would have kissed him back._

“Fuck,” Spot said again, closing his laptop perhaps a bit harder than necessary. “ _Fucking fuck._ ”

He had to find Elmer, had to inform him about the misunderstanding, and make it perfectly clear that Spot would _love_ to kiss him, as soon as _humanly possible_. He stood from his bed, reaching for his jacket and toeing into his shoes in one fluid motion, and then he was throwing open the door to his room.

He was in such a hurry, he almost mowed over Crutchie, who was standing outside Spot’s bedroom door. Spot had been so distracted, he hadn’t even heard his roommate come into the apartment, but Crutchie was standing there, one hand still raised like he had been about to knock on Spot’s door.

“Spot, _Jesus,_ ” he yelped, backing up so that Spot didn’t slam into him. “Slow down, Conlon. What’s your rush?”

“Crutchie,” Spot said desperately, “I have something I need to tell-”

“Wait, no Spot, _I_ have something to tell _you,_ ” Crutchie said firmly. “I just had a _very_ interesting conversation with a certain red-headed barista and their _friend_ Elmer. Do you know what they said?”

Spot knew what was coming, and he flinched. “That they aren’t dating.”

“That they aren’t- _wait just a fucking second._ ” Crutchie narrowed his eyes. “How the hell did you know that?”

Spot shrugged, absolutely shameless. “I may have social media-stalked Albert as soon as I got home.”

“Why doesn’t that surprise me?” Crutchie asked the ceiling. Spot remained silent, guessing that the question hadn’t actually been for him. “What exactly did you find out?”

“One, Albert’s dating a Tony,” Spot said, counting off on his fingers as he spoke, “two, Elmer doesn’t have a Twitter because he’s apparently in the fucking _Stone Ages._ Three, Elmer _probably_ isn’t dating anyone, and _four,_ Elmer looks fucking _hot_ in eyeliner.”

“I didn’t ask-” Crutchie paused, seemed to reconsider, then shook his head. “You know what? Never mind. As soon as you left the coffee shop, Elmer and Albert had this _really_ intense conversation over at the front counter. Like, arm-waving and _emphatic looks_ and the whole shebang, and then Elmer-”

“I’m very invested in this story,” Spot interrupted. “Truly, I am, but did you just use the word _shebang_ unironically?”

“Shut the fuck up,” Crutchie said easily. “So anyways, Elmer sends Albert over to talk to us, and they came up to the table and asked if Elmer was the reason you’d left the coffee shop.”

“What’d you say?” Spot asked.

“I asked them why they needed to know,” Crutchie replied, and alright, that sounded characteristically appropriate. Spot had the sudden mental image of Albert and Crutchie having a staredown in the middle of that damn coffee shop, and he barely resisted the urge to smile.

“Then,” Crutchie continued, “Albert told me that Elmer wanted to know if you were still pissed at him.”

“Still pissed at- I was _never_ pissed at Elmer!” Spot cried, and Crutchie held up a consoling hand, like, _I know, I know._

“Albert said that Elmer was convinced that you hated him, and he just wanted you to know that he wanted to talk with you sometime, so he could figure out what the hell he did,” Crutchie said, and when Spot started to protest, he spoke over him. “I know, dude. I _know._ Just hear me out. Then Jack said something about _if Albert knew what had happened,_ because I love Jack dearly, but he can’t keep his damn mouth shut when it matters most, and Albert replied that yes, they knew what had happened… what had _almost_ happened.”

“Way to rub it in,” Spot grumbled.

“And then Davey asked, _Doesn’t that bother you, your boyfriend kissing someone else?_ And Albert told us…”

“…That they weren’t dating Elmer,” Spot finished. “Yeah, I figured.”

“So I decided to run home and _tell_ you,” Crutchie said, “only to find that you’d already done your research.”

“Done my stalking,” Spot corrected, and Crutchie waved a hand, like, _whatever, man._

“The point is,” Crutchie said, “ _Elmer isn’t dating anyone._ So if you wanted to try for take two of that kiss…”

“You’re absolutely correct, and that is actually where I was going _right this very instant,_ ” Spot clarified.

“Oh, good,” said Crutchie happily. “I appreciate the promptness. _But_ you’ll have to wait until tomorrow, at least.”

Spot made an affronted noise. “I’ll have to _what?_ ”

“Wait,” Crutchie repeated. “Elmer isn’t working at Totally Booked again until tomorrow.”

“Did Albert tell you this, too?”

“Nah, I heard Elmer and Albert discussing it as I left,” Crutchie admitted. “But this is fine! It gives you time to work out what you’ll say to him when you see him.”

The sound that came out of Spot’s throat was part desperation, part agony. “ _Charlie._ I don’t need time to work out what I’m going to say. I need to _see_ him. And possibly make out with him until I can’t remember my own name.”

“You’ll survive until tomorrow,” said Crutchie tiredly, sounding as though he had the weight of the world on his shoulders as he helped dumb friends with their crushes. “I promise. You’ve gone this long in life without kissing Elmer once. You’ll make it another night.”

“I will _not,_ ” Spot argued, but the fight had gone out of him. His back slumped, and he leaned back into his room long enough to toss his jacket over a chair before turning to face Crutchie again. “I _won’t._ ”

“You will,” Crutchie swore.

“But what if I _don’t?_ ”

Crutchie only laughed, prompting Spot to smack his arm and hiss, _“Rude._ ”

“Then I guess you’ll just die,” he said plainly. “I guess you’ll just… _cease existing,_ without getting to kiss Elmer.”

“Guess I will,” Spot sighed, already mentally counting down the hours until he could feasibly go to Totally Booked the next day.

~

Despite Spot’s efforts to find time to go to the bookstore the next day, the simple fact was that he was just _too busy._

First he had class, where he did his best to pay attention and _not_ think about Elmer, with varied success. In his second class, it elevated from thinking about Elmer to thinking about _kissing_ Elmer, and several times he found he had completely zoned out for an indeterminable amount of time, trying to decide how exactly he was going to broach the subject when he finally saw Elmer again.

Then he had a group project in the library, which he expected to be as unproductive as most group projects were, but there was a surprise. Sitting at the table, notes spread out in front of him, was someone Spot recognized, but not from seeing him in person- from seeing him on Albert’s Twitter.

“You’re Tony,” he said, then realized he’d spoken aloud.

Tony looked up. “And you’re the asshole who sits next to me in PoliSci. What do you want?”

“I have a _name,_ ” Spot snapped, before he could stop and think. “It’s _Spot._ ”

Tony just stared at him for a long second. Around them, other members of the group project were starting to fill in at the table, but Tony only had eyes for Spot.

“You’re Spot,” he breathed. “You’re fucking… _of fucking course_ you’re Spot.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” Spot demanded defensively.

“You’re Spot,” Tony said again. “You broke my friend’s heart, didn’t you?”

“Your _friend-_ oh. Oh. Elmer,” Spot realized. “Shit.”

“Yeah, _shit._ Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t beat the shit out of you,” Tony hissed, leaning across the table and lowering his voice so the people around them couldn’t hear. “Elmer was fucking _devastated._ What the hell did you do to him?”

“It’s a long story,” Spot snapped back. “A _longass_ story. But I’m going to fix it.”

“Damn straight you’re going to _fix it,_ ” Tony growled, “because if Elmer comes running to Albert and me crying again I’m going to track you down and beat your ass to fucking _Queens._ ”

“I’m going to _fix it,_ ” Spot repeated. “I didn’t mean… I didn’t want what happened to happen like it did.”

“That made no fucking sense,” said Tony. “But you’d better hope, for his sake and yours, that you manage to fix this.”

“I _will,_ ” Spot snapped. “ _Christ._ ”

They didn’t actually get any work done for the group project; instead, Spot looked up what time Totally Booked opened while his group members bickered around him.

Tony didn’t stop glaring at him the entire time they were at the library, and suddenly Spot had a new motivation to find Elmer and make it right.

After all, he didn’t want his tombstone to say _murdered by a vengeful 5’ tall university student._

~

After the group project at the library, it was well into the afternoon. Spot planned to swing by Totally Booked and see if Elmer was working, but Crutchie called him from his lecture hall half a mile away, requesting a ride because Jack had dropped him off and now both of his boys were in class and he had no ride home.

Sighing deeply and watching his window of opportunity to visit Elmer diminish more and more as the day went on, Spot went to go pick his roommate up and drive him home, and by the time that entire situation was settled, there were twenty minutes left until Totally Booked’s closing time.

“Fucking hell,” Spot muttered, checking the time on his phone. There was no conceivable way he would make it to the bookshop tonight; he’d have to wait and see if he had time tomorrow.

At Crutchie’s request, Spot agreed to stop by the dining hall to pick up food for both of them, and he was just getting in line to pay for the food when someone asked, “Spot?”

“Oh, perfect,” Spot sighed, because Albert DaSilva was _not_ high on the list of people Spot wanted to talk to right now, even if they weren’t dating Elmer.

“Rude,” Albert said mildly. “I was only going to ask if you’ve bumped into Elmer today, maybe had a _very important conversation with him,_ since I assume your roommate with the crutches filled you in _?_ ”

“Piss off,” Spot grumbled. “I have had approximately _no_ time to go to the bookshop today. Leave me alone.”

“He’s working right now,” Albert pointed out, “and yet here you are, in the dining hall.”

“The bookstore closed five minutes ago,” Spot argued.

“Elmer’s a fucking nerd who stays after closing time to resort the bookshelves, or some shit,” Albert snorted. “As a matter of fact, I’m getting this meal for him. _Hey,_ you should bring it to him!”

“I should- no I _shouldn’t,_ ” Spot said hurriedly. “He does not want to see me right now, trust me.”

“Yes he does,” Albert said plainly. “Bring him food. Food is his love language. And you apparently need all the help you can get in that department.”

“Fucking _rude,_ ” Spot said. “Besides, I can’t. I’m bringing my roommate food.”

“He’ll live,” Albert said. “The one with the crutches? He’s rooting for you, man. He’ll understand. Your doorway of opportunity is slipping closed, O Spotty Boy.”

Spot thought about it, but he really didn’t have to think that hard. If there was a chance, even a _slim chance,_ that he could see Elmer, talk to him, maybe work out some feelings, tonight, then by God, he was going to take that chance.

“I resent that nickname,” he told Albert, then took the food from them, dropped the meals he’d been about to buy on the nearest table, and all but sprinted for the door. 

~

The sign in front of Totally Booked wasn’t lit up, and for several long, panicky seconds, Spot thought he was too late. Elmer had already locked up for the night and gone home, and Spot had missed his shot.

When he tried the door, it held a little, like it was meant to be locked, but then gave and pushed open, and Spot stepped into the little bookshop.

The front counter looked empty without Elmer sitting on top of it, reading his book like he always was, and Spot had a sudden flashback to a few days ago, when he’d come in here for the first time and had instantly fallen head-over-heels for every single last detail about Elmer- his smile, his voice, his _freckles._ And now he was here, breaking into Totally Booked in the hopes of setting things right between them, hoping against hope that Elmer hadn’t already gone home for the night, because he didn’t have a clue in hell where Elmer lived.

“Elmer?” he called softly, not wanting to disturb the tranquility of the shop. “Are you still here?”

There was no answer. Spot set the bag of food on the front counter and slowly began making his way through the bookshelves, the uneven aisles full of stacks and crates filled to the brim with books of all conditions, styles, and sizes. Some looked as though they’d just come in from a fancy bookstore. Others looked like they’d been here for several hundred years. Spot knew why Elmer, who _adored_ books, liked working here. He was completely in his element here, surrounded by the things he loved most.

“Elmer?” he tried again, a little louder this time.

Behind the bookshelf directly beside him, something thudded, like a book had just fallen off a shelf. Spot immediately suspected ghosts- he wouldn’t put it past Totally Booked to be haunted.

Then, in the same place as the _thud_ had just come from, Elmer’s voice asked, “Albie?”

Spot winced. “Ah, no. It’s me.”

Silence. Maybe Elmer would just give him the silent treatment until he left the shop in defeat. Spot probably deserved that much.

“What are you doing here?” Elmer asked quietly through the bookshelves. Trying to trace his voice back to him, Spot began moving around the bookshelf, in the general direction of where he thought Elmer was.

“I… _um._ I brought you food?”

No response.

“Also, I came to apologize,” Spot confessed. “I was kind of a dick yesterday.”

Elmer made a weak sound that might have been a scoff. “Damn straight, Spot.”

“So I came to say _sorry_ for… what happened.” Spot said, still making his way around the bookshelf.

“What happened,” Elmer repeated dully. “You mean when you almost… When I almost…”

“When we almost kissed,” Spot said quietly. He walked around the bookshelf and found Elmer, holding a crate of books and reshelving them, seemingly with no order or reason. Cookbooks were going beside novels were going beside encyclopedias- Elmer didn’t have a system. He just took them out of the crate and fitted them neatly on the shelf.

“That… happened,” Elmer said slowly. “That was a thing that happened.”

“It definitely… happened,” Spot agreed, unsure of where this conversation was going. Was Elmer… _disappointed?_ Was he disappointed they hadn’t kissed, or that they’d almost kissed at all?

Elmer looked up, and Spot caught his breath, because he’d forgotten how nice Elmer’s eyes were- a nice golden brown, with long eyelashes and, right now, red rims, most likely from crying. “But then you pulled away. Why?”

“Albert came in,” Spot muttered.

“Albert came in,” Elmer echoed. “What _exactly_ do you have against Albert? Do you two have a secret grudge that I don’t know about? Because they don’t seem to like _you,_ either.”

“They don’t like _me_ because they’re convinced I broke your heart,” Spot said, throwing caution to the winds and holding Elmer’s gaze. “Is that true?”

Elmer gave a half-hearted shrug, returning his attention to shelving another book before looking back at Spot. “I wouldn’t say it’s the most devastating heartbreak I’ve ever been through, but I thought…” He sighed. “I was _sure_ there was something there, between us. And then… you pulled away.” Elmer pulled another book out of his crate and pushed it onto the shelf. “I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable. I thought… you _wanted_ to kiss me.”

 _I do!_ Spot thought frantically. He took a tentative step closer to Elmer. “I _do,_ ” he whispered.

“Then why _didn’t_ you?” Elmer demanded, whirling to face Spot.

“Because I thought I was _homewrecking!_ ” Spot yelled back. “I thought you and Albert were dating, and in kissing you, I would wreck your relationship!”

The crate slipped out of Elmer’s hands and clattered to the ground, and he made no move to pick it up. “You _what?_ ”

“I- thought you were dating Albert?” Spot asked, bewildered. “Why is that such a foreign concept? You two act like you’re fucking _married_ , calling each other ‘babe’ and hugging and shit.”

“We’re _best friends,_ ” Elmer said. “Don’t you act like that with _your_ friends?”

Spot thought of Blink. “…Yes,” he said slowly. “But I _really_ thought you two were a thing, and as much as I _wanted_ to kiss you… I couldn’t make myself do it. I didn’t-” He sighed, frustrated. “I didn’t want to be responsible for tearing apart your relationship.”

“Spot, that’s…” Elmer made a face, scrunching up his nose. Spot wanted to kiss every single freckle on his face. “That’s actually really sweet.”

“Yeah, I have my moments,” Spot muttered. “Anyways, that’s why Albert hates me, in case you were wondering. Oh, and Tony, too. Ran into him at the library and barely escaped with my fucking _life._ Your friends are very protective of you.”

“They just don’t like assholes,” Elmer said, eyeing him. “And we all thought you were an asshole.”

“I _am_ an asshole,” Spot clarified. “I’m just not an asshole who destroys happy relationships.”

“Albert and I _aren’t dating._ ”

“Yeah, I know that _now,_ ” Spot snorted. “But _yesterday,_ I was convinced that in kissing you, I would break you two up.”

Elmer just shook his head, mystified. “Glad we cleared that up. Is that…” He hesitated, biting his bottom lip, and Spot suddenly felt very weak, because he wanted Elmer to bite _his_ lip like that. “Is that the only reason you pulled away?”

Spot laughed softly. “Why, Elmer, if I didn’t know any better, I’d say you _wanted_ to kiss me.”

“You’re such an asshole,” Elmer breathed.

Spot took a step closer. “So do you?”

“Do I what?”

“Want to kiss me?” Spot asked, keenly aware of how close he and Elmer had gotten. They were _incredibly_ close now, enough so that if Spot leaned forward, even just a little bit, they’d be kissing.

“Well, I’m certainly not _opposed_ to the idea,” Elmer whispered.

“Oh, good,” said Spot. “I’m going to kiss you now.”

Elmer’s “ _Please”_ was swallowed up when Spot took the final step forward and finally, _finally_ pressed their lips together.

Spot wondered, somewhat dimly, why the _hell_ they hadn’t done this sooner, because Elmer’s mouth was warm and inviting and the way his hands immediately went to cup Spot’s face made Spot feel weak in the knees. Then Elmer opened his mouth into the kiss, and Spot was not… _entirely_ responsible for the sound that came out of his mouth, equal parts keening and desperate and _hungry for more._

Elmer broke the kiss, grinning. “You like that?” he asked breathlessly.

“ _Fuck_ yes,” Spot growled, grabbing Elmer’s hips and pulling him closer. “Don’t ever stop, _please._ ”

“Well, in _that_ case,” Elmer laughed, and kissed him again, this time immediately opening his mouth into the kiss. Spot gasped loudly, a sound that made Elmer smile against his mouth, and then, before Spot quite knew what was happening, Elmer’s hands were moving from cupping Spot’s face to winding themselves in his hair- and _pulling. Hard._

Spot couldn’t help himself- he moaned. Loudly, in the quiet of the empty bookstore, and suddenly, he remembered where he was. What he was doing. With _who._

“Jesus,” he whispered. “Jesus _Christ,_ Elmer.”

Elmer seemed to take his shock negatively, and backed away, untangling his fingers from Spot’s hair and retreating a few steps. Spot made a noise of protest.

“What?” he asked.

“Was that- _too_ much? I’m sorry, I tend to be a little… bossy? I can stop if we’re going too fast, or-”

“Oh my _God,_ ” Spot whispered, because he’d just imagined Elmer being truly bossy with him, and it was doing funny things to his brain. Then he realized Elmer was still backing away, and he reached out and grabbed his arm. “No, _wait._ I… _liked_ that.”

Elmer froze. “You did?”

Spot nodded and, _fucking hell,_ he could feel himself _blushing._ “I kind of… _really_ liked that.”

Elmer smirked, and it reminded Spot of his expression in the Charlie’s Angels picture, which sent a wave of heat flooding through his body. “You like it rough, Spot?”

“I-” Spot’s voice cracked alarmingly, and he cleared his throat. “I’m not answering that.”

“So you wouldn’t protest if I, say, did _this?_ ” Elmer asked, stepping forward and backing Spot against the bookshelf, pinning him there with nothing but his own body. Spot _swore_ he could feel Elmer’s heartbeat through their chests, or maybe that was his own.

“Definitely not,” Spot whispered, his voice failing him.

“How about this?” Elmer murmured, his voice a low rumble that Spot _felt_ rather than heard. He reached up, his hands finding Spot’s hair again and tugging slightly, nowhere near as hard as before, but still enough to make Spot whimper.

“I’ll take that as a _yes,_ ” Elmer hummed, and leaned in to press a kiss to Spot’s neck. Spot jolted, and Elmer whispered, “Alright?”

“I’m,” Spot managed. It was a miracle he could speak at all, Elmer was so overwhelming- pressing him bodily against the bookshelf, pulling his hair, _kissing his neck._ This is not how Spot had thought this would go when he’d come to Totally Booked tonight.

Not that he was complaining, he thought.

“More than alright,” he whispered, and Elmer kissed his neck again before leaning up so that they were face-to-face, and then they were kissing again, harder and faster than before. Spot’s back started to hurt from where the shelves were digging into it, but he couldn’t find it in himself to care, too consumed with Elmer’s entire body pressed against him, Elmer’s hot mouth moving against his own and making his legs tremble underneath him. If Elmer hadn’t been holding him steady against the bookshelf, Spot wasn’t confident in his ability to remain standing.

Spot would have been content to kiss Elmer forever, but he finally had to pull away, gasping, because his lungs were threatening to give out. Elmer took this opportunity to trail burning kisses down Spot’s neck, and Spot writhed against him, but Elmer was a _hell_ of a lot stronger than he looked, managing to keep Spot pinned and still finding enough strength (and _focus_ ) to absolutely _take Spot apart._

Then Spot felt teeth graze his neck where lips had been only seconds before, and he drew in a sharp breath.

“You like that?” Elmer asked, lips moving against Spot’s neck, and this was it, Spot thought. This was how he died- Elmer _biting his neck._

“If I ever do anything you don’t like,” Elmer whispered, right in Spot’s ear, “or you’re uncomfortable with, _tell_ me.”

“I will,” Spot murmured. “I promise, I will, but right now I just need you to _do that again._ ”

“Your wish is my command,” Elmer said, and that was all the warning Spot got before Elmer’s lips and teeth were back on his neck and he was left gasping, his fingers finding Elmer’s back and scrambling for purchase, fisting themselves in Elmer’s shirt.

“You’re going to- _fuck, Elmer,_ ” Spot hissed, as Elmer’s mouth found the juncture between Spot’s shoulder and neck. “You’re going to leave fucking _bruises,_ Jesus _Christ._ ”

Elmer removed his mouth from Spot with an obscene sucking noise and grinned up at him, lips looking thoroughly red and kissed.

_He’d done that. Spot had done that._

_I did that,_ he thought, and a thrill ran through him.

“Do you want me to stop?” Elmer asked.

Part of Spot wanted to say _no, please keep going forever until I’m just one giant bruise,_ but the more rational part of him thought, _Crutchie’ll give me hell if I walk in the door of our apartment covered in hickeys._

Elmer, sensing his hesitation, said cautiously, “The front door is locked, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“The door- _no it’s not,_ ” Spot scoffed. “I walked right in here. And besides, that’s not what I was worried about. I don’t give a shit if anyone walks in. My roommate’s just never going to let me hear the end of it if I go home tonight covered in spots.”

“Then you’d _really_ be Spot,” Elmer laughed, taking his hands out of Spot’s hair to trace a mark he’d made on Spot’s neck.

“Two kinds of spots on this skin, bitches,” Spot said, because he couldn’t help himself.

“Two kinds…?” Elmer trailed off as Spot pulled up his sleeve, revealing the splotches of lighter colored skin peppering his arm, the patches of vitiligo that he’d tried so hard, when he was younger, to hide from the world because he thought his spots were ugly. Now he embraced his spots, if slightly resented them a bit sometimes for being so damn _noticeable_ against his dark skin, and when Elmer caught his breath, backing up a bit so he could bring Spot’s arm between them, Spot didn’t regret a thing.

“Oh, Spot _…_ ” he said in a hushed voice, running a finger over the lighter patches. “Is this why they call you…”

Spot nodded, shivering slightly at Elmer’s finger brushing over his skin, gentle as a breath. “How about you, Elmer’s Glue? Is _Elmer_ a nickname?”

Elmer shrugged. “It’s what I go by, but it’s not my real name.”

Spot, who knew just how touchy the subject of _real names_ could be, nodded and didn’t press the subject. “So how’d you pick _Elmer?_ ”

“Oh,” Elmer laughed, sounding a little embarrassed. “It started as a dumb wrestling nickname, really. Then everyone picked up on it, and it just stuck.”

“Stuck like glue,” Spot snickered absentmindedly, because he was still focusing on the first part of Elmer’s statement. “Hold on, you _wrestled?_ That’s hot as _fuck._ _That’s_ why you can pin me against a bookshelf.”

“Was that too much?” Elmer asked, backing up a half-step, although he didn’t release Spot’s arm and he didn’t stop tracing his finger over the patch of lighter skin. “I’m sorry, I didn’t even ask. I just-”

“Did an incredible thing,” Spot cut him off. “Which I loved. I… _shit,_ I _liked_ that, Elmer.”

“Oh, good,” Elmer breathed. “So I can do it next time?”

“Are you implying a _next time_ in our near future?” Spot asked. He couldn’t keep the smile off his face, _dammit,_ what was _wrong_ with him? “Because I would like that.”

“I think… I would like that too,” Elmer said slowly, cautiously, like he was afraid at any moment Spot might change his mind. “Sorry, I’m still-” He dropped Spot’s arm. “That was probably weird, I’m sorry, you’re just… _gorgeous.”_

Spot opened his mouth to say something undeniably sappy, something about how he’d never heard anyone use that word to describe his skin before, when his phone buzzed, sharp and loud in his back pocket, which was still resting against the bookshelf. He jumped, and retrieved it to look at the name blinking on the screen.

**[crutch] have either of you murdered each other yet**

**[crutch] or are you fucking in the bookshop**

**[crutch] those are the only two reasons I can think of as to why you have ignored my previous texts**

Spot scrolled up and found, sure enough, ten missed texts from Crutchie. He’d been so involved in _Elmer_ that he hadn’t even noticed his phone buzzing repeatedly. Whoops.

**[me] neither but closer to the 2nd one**

**[crutch] jfc spot are you defiling elmer in his own bookshop**

**[me] wht makes u think im the one doing th defiling**

**[crutch] SPPOT**

**[crutch] WH**

Spot silenced his phone, pocketed it, and turned back to Elmer with a charming smile. “Sorry about that. My roommate thinks that maybe one of us killed the other and hid the body in an alley somewhere.”

“Did you tell him that’s exactly what happened?” Elmer asked, pulling out his own phone. “Because that’s what I’m telling Albert.”

“Oh, God,” Spot said, horrified. “Don’t tell them _that._ They’d be _thrilled._ They’d probably help you hide my body _.”_

Elmer laughed out loud at that, and it was a beautiful, beautiful sound.

“God,” Spot whispered reverently, overwhelmed by the sight of Elmer standing there, in the shitty light from the fluorescent bulbs overhead, eyes shining with laughter and nose crinkled in a smile. “Can I… um. Can I kiss you again?”

In reply, Elmer leaned forward.

This kiss wasn’t as frantic or heavy as their previous ones. It was slow, and light, and yet somehow it still managed to make Spot feel breathless when they parted.

“As much as I’d love to keep doing this,” Elmer mumbled without entirely pulling away, so that he was speaking against Spot’s lips, “we probably need to go let our roommates know we’re still alive.”

Spot hummed, capturing Elmer’s lips in another kiss before whispering, “Let them think whatever the fuck they want.”

Elmer snickered and accepted another kiss, and another, and another. Minutes passed before they broke apart again, and in those minutes, Elmer had Spot pinned against the bookshelf once more and was finding out just how hard he could pull Spot’s hair without Spot collapsing on the ground.

“Sensitive,” he whispered tauntingly in Spot’s ear, as he tugged on Spot’s hair and Spot made a noise he would deny making until his dying day.

“Shut up,” Spot ground out, before Elmer twisted his fingers, pulling harder, and Spot’s ability to speak was reduced to just gasps and small, desperate noises.

Finally, the buzzing from Elmer’s phone, because he had _not_ turned his phone on silent, became insistent, and Elmer broke apart from Spot to check it.

He winced. “I should probably go home,” he said.

“Yeah,” Spot agreed. “I should… also probably go home. But I want to do this- I want more of this.”

“Me too,” Elmer said, nodding emphatically. “Like… _all_ the time. As often as we can.”

“I’ll come visit you at work,” Spot said, a teasing grin playing at his lips. “Make out with you in the shelves again.”

“Oh?” Elmer tilted his head, a challenge in his eyes. “Maybe I’d drag you back here and see how far I can take you without making a noise because there are _other people in the shop_.”

“Oh,” Spot said, in a very small voice, because he liked that idea. He liked that idea very much. Instead of voicing this opinion out loud, however, he just leaned in and kissed Elmer again, close-mouthed and chaste but still full of emotion.

“We should- _fuck._ We should go, Spot,” Elmer said, putting a hand on Spot’s chest and holding him at arm’s length.

Spot sighed. “You’re right. But I’m coming to visit you. Tomorrow?”

Elmer bit his lip to hide a smile, and Spot could see just how much he was enjoying this. “You’re going to be the death of me, Spot. I’m never going to be able to get any work done now. I’ll be too busy thinking about you.”

“Excellent,” Spot said, flashing him a toothy grin. “Tomorrow it is.”

He left Totally Booked with a spring in his step and a genuine smile on his face.

~

**[Unknown Number] fucknginggnir. congrats, homie**

**[Unknown Number] glad 2 c u n elmo got ur FUCKNINNG SHIT 2GETHER**

**[me] lmao who is this**

**[Unknown Number] litrally th only other person more invested in ur personal lov life than ur fuckngng roomie**

**[me] albert?**

**[Unknown Number] ding ding motherfuckeher**

**[Unknown Number] glad u 2 got it 2gether n I don’t have 2 beat ur ass**

**[me] as if u could take me**

**[Unknown Number] whtever man jst don’t break his fuckgg heart**

~

“Crutchie,” Spot announced, bursting into the apartment with no preamble or explanation. “Do I have a fucking _story_ for you.”

**Author's Note:**

> what was that
> 
> i dont know
> 
> isa i love you with my whole heart thank u for existing and being patient as i struggled through this 
> 
> anyways i changed my tumblr i'm @muckcty-mucks
> 
> love y'all keep being awesome


End file.
